Our Truth
by looloogirl
Summary: James T. Kirk goes on a wild goose chase to find the meaning behind Spock's actions. K/S. Rated M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

Nyota Uhura's father had died that night. The death in itself was not what affected me. Yes, it was tragic, as he was fairly young. Yes, his death could have been prevented. Yes, I felt her pain.

But what really shocked me beyond belief was Spock's reaction. Yes, he's a Vulcan. Yes, he is not your typical boyfriend. Yes, he may have wanted to escape his own grief.

But not even offering to comfort her through her emotional turmoil? No "I'm sorry"? Storming out of her quarters at the first sign of tears? He didn't even do so much as to storm out _politely_. It was just "Your 'grief' is illogical and is distracting me from my more important duties to this ship". Who in their right mind would do such a thing if they wanted to keep their astounding reputation and banging hot girlfriend? Certainly no logical being.

But at least she came to me to let it out. If she had not softly knocked on the door to my quarters that evening, nothing would've ever happened between us.

She approached me, clearly upset and deeply offended. "You know a lot about Spock..."

"Yea, why? What happened?"

She let out a whimpering sigh. "It's just... after I broke the news to him, he..."

I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"He's so insensitive. I can't..." I swept in for a hug as her eyes shut and the tears began to fall. She clutched to me, soaking up my warmth, my sympathy, my care. That pure, therapeutic, tender moment of human touch, so simple, so complex, kept her from melting into a puddle of sobs. I could feel her sharp, erratic breaths reverberating through my core, her tears staining my uniform, and her babbling stabbing my heart.

Saline spilled over my lidded dam at her last reasoned words: "Would you talk to him? I don't... I don't think I can _handle_ another conversation with him for a while. Please, James, please... please... please..."

I squeezed her tighter and promised her I would do anything to help her recover—like any good captain would.

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><p>.<p>

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I approached Spock's quarters with a sense of dread. I was going to have to keep the discussion professional, try my hardest not to let my lecture trail off into the territory of human dating etiquette, or, heaven forbid, my unreserved jealousy of Uhura. Yep, it was going to be difficult.

I knocked nervously at his door, and not seconds later it slid open.

"Captain." He greeted as if he'd been expecting me.

"Commander Spock. I have been told to discuss some issues between you and Lieutenant Uhura. I promise you I'll keep it brief, this sort of argument-settling isn't really my thing."

"Of course Captain."

"Lieutenant Uhura has expressed concern over your reaction to her father's suicide..."

"I am aware that I may have acted in a different manner than expected of humans."

"Yes, Spock, I understand, but the point is..."

"That I should handle the situation as a human would, I am clear on that."

Spock didn't usually do interrupting. It was logical to let the other person finish their train of thought before speaking, and even Vulcans obeyed that custom. So there must be another reason for this strange act. Residual grief for his own mother, perhaps?

"And I'm clear on the fact that there's something else going on. What is it?"

He was silent for a couple seconds. "Nothing, Captain."

I stepped past him, lightly brushing against his shoulder, and began pacing around his room as I always did when thinking. It was three times around the room before I was able to come up with a question that could (and probably would) lead to my solution. I turned toward him. "Did you love your mother, Spock?"

He seemed appalled by my query. "No."

"Did you grieve her death?"

"No."

"Do you love Lieutenant Uhura?"

"_No_."

I pursed my lips in irritation. "Answer my damn questions. That's a direct order."

"I have been, Captain."

Stubborn Spock was stubborn, irritated Kirk was irritated. "No, you are not. You're just answering 'no' to get me the hell out. Let me tell you something, _it's not working_."

"Vulcans cannot lie."

"Bullshit." I sneered. "You act as if you are incapable of love, which is most definitely a lie."

"I am capable of feelings such as love, I just choose not to let them affect me."

"Really now?" I retorted sarcastically. "Then by all means, Spock, show me. Show me an emotion, any emotion. Just for shits and giggles." I crossed my arms haughtily.

"Jim..."

His expression softened, darkened. He bowed his head slightly and stepped closer, raising his hand laboriously to chest height, not meeting my eye.

"If you're trying to shoo me off, it's not working. At least make an effort to do it properly, none of this business." I copied him.

And then, just like that, he stretched his arm out and touched my mocking fingers with his own.

Gently.

It was clear he was not trying to push me out. I humored him and mimicked his motions with my other hand, smirking to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation, though it did seem like a natural turn of events. My brain did not register that we were touching almost intimately. I did dully note, however, that his hands were not so much touching as feeling. Spock was looking for something; his hands had direction, purpose. The way in which his fingers squeezed my third knuckle, the ilk of his strokes, his plan of action, was unique to that moment. It was as if he was exploring my hands, maybe even mapping them out for future travels and encounters.

Then came the sudden _tapping_ of alien fingertips, which created a volatile, unconventional rhythm that confused my senses. My befuddled hands froze, unsure how to respond.

For the first time that day, he met my eyes. I could see his brown ones twinkle in amusement. His hands switched tactics, stroking my fingerprint playfully and subsequently numbing my thoughts. Soft fingers danced across my own, occasionally curling into the valleys between, sloppily lacing and unlacing, as would a little boy's shoe. I squeezed his fingertips in my palm as he traced patterns in my other one. My right hand dominated his left, controlling and manipulating its joints and stroking its arid flesh. In no time at all, I was lost in his hands, relaxed by his gentleness and intrigued by his urgency.

He broke the phalangel caress after what seemed like hours and the instant he did, my mind snapped back into place.

"_What_ was _THAT_?" I asked, baffled, as my brain began the complicated process of analyzing the newfound memories. My reaction must have come off as angry rather than genuinely surprised and curious because Spock looked positively shocked and embarrassed.

A fiery green blush—one that I had never witnessed—tinted his cheeks as he attempted to find words. "I...Apologize, captain. I did not intend to unload such illogical emotions in that fashion."

"No no no... Spock... I'm asking what you just _did_." I held out my palms to show him. "With my hands, you know."

His tone noticeably dried out, the texture of his voice was stale and even more emotionless than usual. "I was only following orders, Captain. You asked me to show you my emotional capabilities, and I complied."

"So hand touching is some sort of Vulcan ritual?"

"Negative. It is merely a Vulcan way of communicating emotion."

The length, contents, and delivery of his sentences revealed that there was something he was holding back, something big. I decided it was the better part of valor to leave him be, to leave my benign curiosity dissatisfied. "I see. Thank you Spock, and I apologize for my intrusion. I will see that Lieutenant Uhura receives your apology."

I could feel his eyes as I exited his quarters.

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><p>.<p>

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R&R for faster updates :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

Wow! I _really_ did not expect this many favorites, reviews and story alerts! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH I LOVE YOU!

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...ahem

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For future reference, I'll most likely be updating once a week to allow for editing the old/writing the new chapter. There will be 4-6 chapters total, so that's only... a month for the whole thing? That's not too too bad, especially considering my suckage and my tendency to overedit _

I'm also blogging, so if you feel like stalking me, feel free to check out my blog! shitthatirritatesme (dot) blogspot (dot) com

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><p>.<p>

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"Bones!" I called, attempting to catch his attention through his impenetrable field of concentration. He put his tools down; wily eyes turned toward me.

"Get back to the bridge, Jim, you're not due for your annual physical until next week."

"I just have a few things to ask of none other than the best CMO in the fleet." I responded, humoring him.

"Make it snappy. I've got an appendectomy to perform in less than an hour." He scowled.

"It's about Spock."

"Big surprise there..." He pointedly rolled his eyes, as if to mock me in some way.

"Do you have any knowledge pertaining to Vulcan behavioral patterns, customs, or etiquette?"

"Goddammit Jim I'm a doctor not a Vulcan specialist. What's this all about anyway? Wishful thinking?"

"Hm?"

"I _said_, 'What is your excuse for ogling over Spock this time'?"

...

...

...And so, it became painfully obvious that he'd figured me out.

I'd been dreading this moment since this cursed attraction was in its early stages of development. News of my bisexuality was not the issue though. No, the issue lay in his tendency to poke fun.

He would, no doubt, take this dreadfully embarrassing predicament lightheartedly, which would be entirely degrading and humiliating for me. He'd joke, he'd laugh, and he might even try his luck at matchmaker, all of which would be entirely inappropriate given the situation. Now, that's not to say I'd have been adverse to any sort of joke pertaining to an awkward circumstance, but there was definitely a thin line. My first encounters with Uhura? Hilarious. My undying love for my first officer? Not so much.

Bones...my only friend, the one I owed my entire career to. He would finally get an inside to my weaknesses, my flaws (including my tendency to get into copious amounts of trouble and my uncanny ability to wreak havoc just by breathing), and worst of all, he would crack taunting jokes related to Vulcan anatomy on the bridge... right where Spock could hear them. I. Could. Not. Let. That. Happen.

So, the only "logical" course of action was to play dumb...again. "Huh?"

"Don't you 'huh' me, I know plenty well what goes on in this ship."

Shit. I felt color rising into my cheeks, so I raised my voice to pass it off as irritation. "I don't know what you're talking about, Bones. I just thought I'd research something Spock told me about today. Sorry to disturb your 'pressing' duties." I turned to leave; he wasn't going to be of use anyway.

His words, dripping with curiosity, stopped me in my tracks against my will. "...And what was that?"

"A Vulcan way of communicating emotion."

"You've mind-melded before, Jim."

"We weren't melding."

"That's _really _specific." He retorted sarcastically.

"He touched my fingertips in this odd, sensual manner. I'd never felt anything like it."

"Jesus, Jim, you really are a wishful thinker."

"I thought you were in a hurry." I spat, faux irritation on the brink of becoming genuine.

At that, his scowl morphed into an outright smirk. "I can pretty much guarantee that your exchange, no matter how intimate you may have found it, was platonic at best. Sorry to burst your bubble."

I knit my eyebrows together in attempt to look confused.

"That's not going to work on me."

I could not for the life of me think of an excuse or anything remotely related to a half-decent comeback. So I just stood there in silence, staring at him like a dumb fish.

He smiled at me sincerely and his tone softened. "I mean, it's not like you don't mention him every chance that you get, worry endlessly when he gets injured, and lovingly stare at him practically batting your eyelashes or anything."

"My ass."

His attitude switched to that of spitting cobra in a matter of seconds. "My ass? That's so full of bullshit I don't even know how to respond!"

"Spock is my science officer, and my friend. It is only realistic that I should speak of him often and care for him; it's only human."

"Whatever you say, Jim. Whatever you say. But whatever the case may be, you're free to check in my computer databases for anything related to your Vulcan touchy-feely bullshit...Just let me find that damn key card." He trotted over to his atrocious desk and rummaged around through the tons of papers, shots, bottles, dangerous chemicals, tablets, and styluses for a palm-sized plastic disc and handed it to me.

"Thanks Bones, I owe ya." I gave him a rough pat on the shoulder, executed a swift 180 and began the laborious and nerve-racking process of walking the 30 feet to his computer. I twirled the disc between my second and middle finger as I tread, imagining Spock's thin dry ones in its place.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I _promise_ next chapter will have sexytimes. I know you've all been waiting for it.

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><p>McCoy's database showed nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing about anything Vulcan-related, save basic anatomy. I knew he'd be useless.<p>

Pounding my fist on his desk in irritation, I began weighing my measly sum of options as to how the _hell_ I could approach solving this damned Vulcan mystery. Sickbay, however, did not offer an adequate pondering atmosphere so I decided to leave, and trek halfway across the Enterprise to my quarters where I could pace in peace.

It was a mighty long walk, and of course, the idea struck the instant my room came into my line of vision.

Who better to ask about Spock's behavior than Spock himself? Nobody, that's who. It was an ingenious course of action, certainly one of my better ideas. Not only would Spock know about himself and his weird Vulcan voodoo, but also he would be willing to share the information with me, his former captain. And the best part was, I could contact him right then! Flawless, absolutely flawless.

I burst into my room and eagerly sat at the computer and ordered it to call Spock Prime on New Vulcan. It obliged like a good computer, and in a matter of seconds, Spock's face appeared on the monitor.

"James T. Kirk, it's a pleasure to see you." He greeted matter-o-factly, a half smile tainting his logical demeanor.

"And boy am I glad to see you, Spock." I grinned at him triumphantly. "How goes it on New Vulcan?"

"It 'goes' well, old friend. We've accomplished much this past 10.7 weeks, including the erection of our capitol, surrounding buildings, and many housing facilities. It's taking us awhile to adjust, but we're coping."

"Good, glad to hear it. Speaking of Vulcan, I have a couple questions for you regarding Vulcan etiquette/behavior."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oh?"

"Spock...the other one... wouldn't answer me when I asked him."

"I see. I'll be happy to answer your questions to the best of my ability."

"So, does hand touching mean anything different for Vulcans than for humans? It would make sense, seeing as hands are one of the more sensitive areas of the Vulcan epidermis, am I right?"

"May I inquire why you are asking such a question?"

"I've noticed that Spock has a definite aversion to all physical contact, especially hand-to-hand, and I, being a tactile human being, find it pretty damn weird. I asked him about it and he said it had something to do with mind melding, but I didn't buy it."

He eyed me through the monitor skeptically. "I see. Your theory of hand touching symbolizing something more could not be more correct."

"What do you mean?"

"My hands are much like your lips: sensitive and erogenous."

I blinked forcefully a couple times to make sure I wasn't dreaming. "Uhh...come again? I'm afraid I misunderstood..."

"In essence," he added, apparently not done with his montage, "a human handshake would be perceived as a kiss to us vulcans, and a not-so-innocent one at that."

Blood stained my cheeks the brightest shade of crimson since the sunburn from planet Päike that left blisters on my face for days afterward.

Spock and I had heavily made out not hours before. Spock and I. Kissing quite intimately. Without my knowledge. What. The. Fuck.

"Well, umm...that makes a hell of a lot more sense. Thank you Spock." I managed to choke out whilst attempting to cover as much flushed skin as physically possible with my free hand (still looking casual, of course). He didn't seem to notice.

"Anytime. However, I'm afraid I cannot answer any more questions at this time; I have business to attain to."

"Alrighty then, see ya Spock."

"Live long, and prosper." Static took over the screen before I could mimic his odd hand gesture, but at least I had a plan, and a good one at that.


	4. Chapter 4

The door to Spock's quarters hissed open at the sound of my confident knock. He stood at its entrance, hands crossed at the small of his back, looking down at me.

"Jim." He greeted

"Spock, may I come in a minute? I believe we have a bit more to discuss."

"Of course Captain." His tone was emotionless as usual.

I sauntered in. He followed, gracefully taking a seat by his computer.

I leaned against a wall, arms crossed in a much-too-confident manner. "So, Spock, I was talking to the other you last night about the whole Uhura business, and he offered some advice."

I paused and eyed him up, trying to read him. His posture was stiff and controlled as usual. The sloped eyebrows, the bland mahogany eyes, the thin, relaxed lips, and the unflushed cheeks suggested that he did not find my conversation with Spock Prime suspicious in the least.

Perfect.

I pushed myself off of the wall and stepped toward him, hands at the small of my back, chin upturned slightly to meet his eyes. I took a sharp, dramatic breath before continuing my bullshit montage. "He said to me that in all of his experience interacting with those of the human race, he has figured out two things which he advises you to do in the future to prevent further… issues.

"The first, the most blatantly obvious, was to act more human in times of emotional and/or physical pain. Spock thinks acting human when around humans is a quite logical course of action."

I pointedly pivoted around and began pacing in the opposite direction of my First. He followed in my footsteps exactly as planned.

"Why, captain?" He asked.

"Because it will prevent more hostile emotions from emerging."

He raised his left eyebrow and looked at me inquiringly.

"You see Spock, if you offend a human by not sympathizing with their pain, their jealousy, their grief, their _love_..." I shot him a sly smile. "...They will become quite irritated and unleash twice as much emotion as they would've in normal circumstances! That must be a big deal for you, Spock. If you take that simple piece of advice, you can cut your feelings of exasperation in half!"

"I am not capable of that emotion, Captain."

I chuckled to myself as I strode closer. "Wow, déjà vu. I could've sworn we had this conversation... just yesterday, in fact."

I swiftly snatched his left hand and sandwiched it between mine. My blue irises raked his brown ones. "Can we do this thing again?" I asked.

His sharp intake of breath—so uncharacteristic of his logical demeanor—was all of the support I needed to continue.

I gripped it tightly and began outlining the delicate joints with my fingertips in a lazy, serpentine manner. They shivered beautifully under my touch.

His face was hard and cold, colorless, clearly uneasy. He was wide-eyed and narrow mouthed, tight lipped and wobbly legged. "Stop."

"Why?"

"Please refrain from touching my hands."

My expression did not change and neither did the placement of my hands.

"Captain..." he pleaded.

"What's with you and hand touching?"

I cast my glance down to our affixed palms and gently sanded our fingerprints together. Distressed, Spock yanked his fingers away, tore them from my loving grasp and took to the other side of the room.

I scanned the length of his nervous, conflicted figure and slowly approached him to dully ask what was wrong.

He glanced back at me, pausing for a short while in attempt to fabricate some sort of excuse. He responded hesitantly, voice lowered minutely, possibly due to his clearly evident distress. "I apologize, captain. Vulcan hands are very sensitive and excess stimulation results in extreme discomfort."

"But we did it just yesterday..." I retorted, clearly in control of the argument.

He stopped and held his breath. I could feel the mechanisms in his brain ticking, attempting to cover his lie with another feeble excuse. He was not blessed with the skill of lying and, moreover, was never exposed to the true masters of lying. Only those who were enrolled in the same class as Leonard McCoy throughout elementary school knew the true meaning of "pathological liar", and while that meaning wasn't too pretty, it did teach a lesson or two about the dos and don'ts of fibbing. Spock, fortunately, was not one of them.

In other words, I knew what a simple game of handsies meant for vulcans. He knew as well. I knew that he knew, and yet he didn't know that I knew. Even if he knew how to lie, he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep the secret for long because I was smart and I knew things. There was a lot of knowing going on, and yet a single unknown complicated his situation far more than it should.

If only he knew...

"What else did he advise, Captain?"

"Oh yeah I almost forgot about the second one." I said, internally rolling my eyes at his pathetic diversion. "This one struck me as incredibly interesting—curious if you will. Completely unexpected." I paused briefly. "It's sort of... difficult to explain."

He shifted his weight slightly. "I'm sure you can muster up an adequate method of explanation."

I smiled warmly at him. "You think too fondly of me."

"I find that incorrect, sir. I most certainly do not think fondly of you, for your illogical and rash nature is insulting and repulsive to most aboard this ship, including myself."

Ouch. "Well then Spock, I guess I'll have to try my best, since obviously I still need to prove my stunning intellect's existence to you." I spat. "He's giving you the advice to end your relationship with Lieutenant Uhura."

"Why, Captain?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, though in my heart, I was aware that this was about to get interesting. Fast. "I just explained the situation to him and it somehow seemed to him that you weren't that interested in her. I'm not quite sure why, but he knows you, so..."

"To which situation are you referring?"

I turned around so he couldn't see my face just in time. My mouth contorted into some kind of screwy smirk, the kind you get when your granddad says something "that's what she said" worthy without realizing it. His tone, frantic and worried, was just too hilarious. I cleared my throat in attempt to regain composure and rotated to meet his eyes once again.

"Our talk yesterday." I said blatantly, trying my best to mask my emotion.

If he wasn't nervous and uncomfortable earlier, he sure as hell was _now_. His lips were sealed shut, pursed. His cheeks looked sponged green and he was completely and totally silent. Not a single breath escaped his nostrils.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head.

I looked him in the eye, or rather in the hair, as his eyes were cast away, head bowed. "So was what he said true?"

"Affirmative." was his response.

"So does that mean that after we have more Vulcan hand sex you'll break up with her?" My lips burst, unable to restrain my cheeky grin any longer.

He stepped back, eyebrows shooting up far out of their comfort zone. A green blush swept over his cheeks in defeat.

I approached him with outstretched hands, teeming with triumph. He hesitated, skeptical of my advances.

"Come on, Spock." I beckoned waving my hand in front of his. "It's okay; I want this."

"I cannot." He said.

"Yield to the logic of the situation! You're dying to kiss and I'm dying to be kissed! What's the holdup?"

Spock visibly—and audibly—sighed, stepped foreword. I grasped his hand.

He looked at me quizzically for a while, contemplating the situation. I gave him time.

I felt no movement from him (save his pulse) for a good 30 seconds.

I continued to wait.

And then, just like that, he closed my fingers together and opened the valley between my third and ring finger, as well as between my pointer and thumb, leaving them exposed, ripe for exploitation. He pressed his similarly contorted hands onto mine and closed his eyes.

His touch lingered for another phase of motionlessness.

I could feel his shields melt away along with my pride and sensibility. Fingers swept across my palm in pairs, skimming across its natural indentions, tickling like a feather. Goosebumps bubbled up to the surface of my skin as pulses of his attraction reverberated through our weak mental bond.

I looked up at him, my eyelashes involuntarily fluttering as I captured his stare. I let out a soft, hot breath and bowed my head slightly, continuing to fiddle with his fingers. The instant his neck craned down to meet my gaze once more, I claimed his lips, overthrowing his previous dominance.

They were shocked and tense, difficult and unforgiving. I had thrust my lips upon his too quickly; he was terribly inexperienced and terribly confused. The pressure I had so firmly established had dissolved instantaneously. Our lips were barely grazing across the others' in long, fluid strokes, severing that tingling contact that I wished for. I could only get a glimpse, a preview, which was most certainly not enough.

I focused back on his hands, distracting his reflexes by gently massaging his third digit to the beat of my pulse. His muscle seemingly disintegrated, his hand lolling about his wrist as I continued to ply his delicate fingers. Heavy eyelids, swiftly starting to seal, were every signal I needed to proceed.

I swept in for another human kiss, this time sloppy and slack jawed. He melted into me, eager to cooperate, eager to submit to my wants and needs as Captain. Our tongues met at the intersecting point and slipped past each other, slick with hot saliva. I could feel his eyelashes about my left cheek, softly tickling my hypersensitive skin as our saturated tongues tangoed to the tempo of our heartbeats.

A good minute of Spock's eager and trembling tonguings interrupted only by staggering breaths flew by. Our lips loosely locked under the dim lights of Spock's quarters. We pulled apart far enough to observe the other while still maintaining the state of our woven fingers. My breath came out in fervent puffs as I looked up at him in a half-lidded stare. He replied with his own bedroom-eyes, pupils engorged with lust.

My cheeks, flushed and ripe with crimson blood, stood, exposed for his review, and yet he glanced past them, seemingly unfazed.

His target was elsewhere. His eyes dropped to my uniform trousers, expressionless save the emerald blush that colored even his ears. His fingers unlaced and took a seat on my shoulders, urging me to the bed. My shoulder blades viciously stabbed the sheets as my back slapped against the mattress, yet the impact barely registered. Our hands and lips quickly found their place against the others'. His body—a heavy presence—weighed me down, thrusting me deeper into the confines of his hard mattress.

And his body's location did not go unappreciated. I kissed him, nailing my colors to the mast, cherry lips puckering playfully, gleaming with saliva. I kissed him, sailing under false colors, teasing his fingers—nimbly stroking and intertwining the digits, flexing and straightening them, rubbing the smooth, elegant nails, doodling on his palms.

I felt my hand pry itself from Spock's passionate kiss and worm its way up the lining of his black undershirt, jittering with excitement. His abdominals recoiled at my relatively cold touch, thereby expanding the maneuverable area.

He bowed his head, raven strands grazing across my forehead, and peeled himself away at a snail's pace, creating the illusion of lingering body contact. In one fluid motion, Spock's torso successfully slithered out of his binding uniform shirt and he discarded it next to the lyre which sat a mere 5 feet from the foot of his bed. The dim lighting left no muscle movement to the imagination, exposing every shadow and every small contraction of his beautiful, inhuman, sculpted form. Short, jet-black hairs decorated his chest, aesthetically framing his exotic green-tinted nipples.

I shied away from his stare to kick off my boots and unceremoniously tossed them at the foot of the bed as he began to remove my clothing in much the same manner. I reached up to pull his neck down and sealed another kiss.

His lips drifted toward my neck. He sprinkled it with zealous kisses with perfect placement, striking my erogenous zones with incredible accuracy.

My brain was not in control anymore. Blood had abandoned it, leaving all behind but reptilian instincts and the registry of my senses. I had been stripped of logic, coherency and clothing, denied my right to freedom of speech, and locked inside the confines of my adulterated mind, unable to escape until after this battle of dominance and stamina.

The joy of Spock's hands exploring me was irresistible, irreplaceable by logic. This electrifying feeling of my body against his, together like sardines, sticky with sweat, was beyond my wildest dreams. Streams of my thoughts whirred through my head faster than warp 9, articulating my observations, emotions, and feelings, thereby amplifying their arousal factor 10 fold.

He ceased fire and looked up at me, his hot stare piercing my eyes...

_He wants me._

He unclasped the fastener on my uniform pants with his nimble hand and held each side inviting me so shimmy them off.

_He needs me._

I complied, leaving them in a heap on the bed and flipped him over, switching our positions. I slithered downward and bowed my head...

_I want him._

I grasped his zipper between my teeth; cold titanium permeated my saliva. I drug my neck slowly downward, hearing each click of the unwinding zipper through my jaw...

_I need him._

His soft exhale propelled a magnitude of electric pulses straight to my groin.

I began tentatively dragging my wet tongue across his abdomen with long, curvy strokes. His breath hitched; his brows twitched. I smirked and zig-zagged lower, lower, lower; my mouth latched on the white, detergent-scented elastic of his underwear and yanked it, pulling it downwards until it was out of my way. My tongue crept through the crevice between his abdomen and his shaft, lugging itself sideways across the upper side.

I looked up into his eyes, sensing a disheveled mind behind his dark pupils. I observed their shutting abruptly, eyelashes crunching between lids as my mouth did the handiwork. My eyes strained to keep contact with his as my tonsils took one blow after another.

Every swipe of the tongue gave rise to a new motion, be it a jerk of a leg, a twitch of an arm, or a shudder of the head. I grasped his hand instinctually, desperate to discern his violent reactions. The thought patterns offered to me were helplessly aroused and dizzied, unsure and out of control.

I removed myself from him with a soft pop of the lips to let him take control. He enveloped me almost immediately, His hands delicately stroked the sides with a chilling touch. His somewhat pointed tongue felt beyond heavenly. The twang of pleasure in my gut became more and more pronounced, more and more instinctual, animal, as his tongue honed in on the most sensitive of places and increased speed as the seconds crawled by. I sensed that tidal wave, breaching in the distance, waiting to crash down at any given moment, to drown me and thrust me onto shore. The drives were too strong.

"Stop." I said.

Spock raised an eyebrow smugly before ejecting me. I breathed a sigh of relief. The wave's white crest fizzled out just before its breaking point.

I decided it was best for me to stay put, kicking up enough wind to send another tidal wave surging towards me was not something I wanted to happen this early in the night. I plopped myself onto the bed yet again to help ease my dizzied thoughts and calm the animal within. He sat and waited patiently for my captainy momentum to surface once again.

It didn't take long.

My feet planted themselves upon his cold tile flooring and began to step, slowly and carefully, one foot at a time. Two steps sideways, toes pointing towards the bed, heels outside a pair of green toes facing the lyre, fingertips still kissing. I felt warm hands guide mine onto his thighs. He gently grasped my hips, steering me downwards onto him, not so much for movement as for support.

I closed my eyes and braced myself for impact, heart thumping with anxiety. Spock planted a soft, chaste, human kiss on my forehead and I knew everything was going to be all right, not that I needed to be reassured.

He inched in, centimeter by centimeter, almost worried glance darting up at me every few seconds making sure I was okay. I kept nodding at him through the discomfort, trying to communicate to him through his thick head that I would honestly be in much less pain if he just went ahead and did the deed. Anticipation and unfulfilled sexual tension hurt worst of all.

He sighed, most certainly feeling the burn himself. I tilted his chin up with one free hand, smiled at him, and touched my lips to his. I played with his tongue and licked the tips of his teeth playfully, tasting a hint of myself in him. He allowed himself to unwind a tad, working his way into my mouth. I relaxed and let myself submit to him, only answering to his motions. I could tell he was sufficiently distracted.

In that second, I thrust my hips downwards. Our lips separated instantaneously, leaving our mouths open and gaping, stunned.

A hard shiver rippled through me at the new, alien sensation of being wrenched open at the seams. I clenched my teeth tightly and exhaled in attempt to relax and ease the pain.

I withdrew upwards.

Then down.

_Up._

_Down._

_Pant._

_Pant. _

_Pant._

I pushed myself hard even though it hurt. I coveted his response to me, an "unworthy" captain, stripping away his logic, letting him ravage me on his precious lump-free mattress. I needed to unveil that Vulcan mask of his, to see the same human, animal lust I saw in myself. My insides began to numb, inviting me to pleasure him _more,_ to give him all I had. _Down, up, down, up, down, up._

I opened my eyes to see him looking most illogical. His hair was a mess. His expression of that of pure ecstasy, mean blush encasing his skin. He was breathing hard, smelling of sweat, his mouth open paired with a curled, tense posture. His muscles were clenched tight, hands groping mine for support through the most intense human encounter he had ever experienced.

It was beautiful.

It was almost as if he were truly a part of me. My mind consisted of his thoughts; my desire was directly proportional to his, my ears, sensitive to his breaths, my touch sensitive to his heartbeat.

His intuition was spot-on, setting a pace that made me see stars. I rolled my hips, encouraging his actions, thoughts screaming _more more more_, lips shooting blanks.

He was thrusting into me harder now. I was shaking all over, goosebumps freckling my arms. I curled my legs around his calves for leverage as I gripped his shoulders firmly, bringing our bodies ever closer. My neurons were maniacal, firing signals of both severe pain and guttural pleasure to my brain, mangling my entire sense of touch. Spock's erotic thoughts didn't do much to soothe my cranial distress.

I was nearing my edge; I could feel it deep within my gut, sensation beginning to boil. I kept going. Filling my thoughts with _his_ and my body with _him_ over and over and over again, faster and faster and faster, hands skimming over his torso feeling his muscles, clawing his back, breathing hard and quite possibly moaning.

I ogled him with fuzzy, unfocused eyes as he grasped me and began stroking me furiously. All of my willpower and energy was thrust into concentration in attempt to ignore the pulses of pure energy gushing through my spine making my entire body just _quiver_ in bliss. I was sweltering. A film of sweat swathed my skin. The friction between us was unbearable. He was agonizing, tormenting. I was vulnerable to defeat in 30 seconds at most. I had to last longer… had to…had to…

My body constricted, curling against him, the only outward motion being that of my hips and my breath. I had reached enlightenment, white light flashed before my eyes and sweet, sweet relief bowled me over in ecstasy. One throb. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. Relax.

In his last motion, he gripped me, muscles clenching, clouded eyes unseeing, logical mind unthinking, pleasure irrefutable. He thrust his head down and hips up and just pulsed into me over and over and over again, lining my insides with substantiation of our bond.

I had been washed away. I curled up to his chest, spent, empty, and useless for the remainder of the night.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry that took so long. I really am, both for my sanity and yours.

I seriously never want to look at this ever again for a long time. Like really. I spent SO MUCH TIME writing and editing this damn thing it's not even funny. I couldn't figure out how to do stuff because this was my 3rd ever smut, my 2nd ever gay smut, and my first ever smut that actually turned out okay.

I'd like to publicly thank my beta because she is a BAMF. She doesn't have a FFnet account that I know of, but she is located at moonshoespotter42(dot)tumblr(dot)com.

R&R please! Just one more chappie!


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